A Night In
by otahyoni
Summary: The Wraiths get their hands on Face's old holodramas. Set between Wraith Squadron and Iron Fist.


**A Night In**

Face stepped out of the 'fresher, toweling his hair dry. A quick scan of his quarters showed that Ton still wasn't back from wherever he had disappeared to four and a half hours ago. Face glanced at his chrono. If they were going out again tonight, they'd want to leave in thirty minutes. Every other night at this time, Ton had been trying to convince Face to wear perfectly hideous outfits (to better his own chances, he claimed) and scheming up all sorts of ridiculous plots to fill their evening (most of which were usually carried out).

Face dressed quickly, throwing on something casual yet dashing, and exited his quarters. He walked a few meters and knocked on the door of the room shared by Kell and Runt. No answer. He knocked again, louder. Again, no answer. Across the hall was Donos and Piggy's room. No answer there either. A fast walk to Tyria's quarters revealed that she, too, was missing.

His next stop was the mess, but there were no Wraiths to be seen. The doorway to the lounge was dark, which he found odd, as this was usually a popular time of day for it. But dark meant empty, and he turned to retrace his steps, baffled.

And then he heard the laughter. He might not have noticed it if not for the distinctive braying laugh of Runt and snortings of Piggy. Eyes narrowed, he turned and scanned the mess again, more slowly. Still no Wraiths.

Another wave of laughter. Coming from the darkened lounge.

Suddenly suspicious, he made his way around the large, crowded room, hugging the wall. As he got closer to the lounge, he could see flickering light coming from inside. He had a very bad feeling about this.

He stuck his head around the corner and peered into the room. And saw the last thing he'd ever wanted to see again.

_The Black Bantha._

He stared in horror as a 12-year-old boy with black hair and startlingly green eyes stroked the head of a baby bantha. The boy's face was huge, his frustration palpable. They'd rigged up a holoprojector and were using the entire wall as the screen.

"They just don't understand," the boy said, glaring over his shoulder into the distance. "They don't understand what a privilege it is to serve the Empire."

The laughter erupted again. Face's eyes fell on the occupants of the room—the six missing Wraiths. Kell and Tyria were curled up in a large chair together, his head back as he laughed, her hand covering her mouth. Ton, Donos, Piggy, and Runt were scattered in chairs throughout the room. Ton had his hands on his knees and was bent nearly double. Runt's arms were wrapped around his stomach. Piggy's entire body shook. Even Donos was smiling and chuckling softly.

The boy continued. "They'll see. If they won't let me go to the Academy, I'll run away. I'll run away and they'll never see me again. I'll never come back. Not even to show them how wrong they were." A single tear traced its way down his youthful, flawless cheek.

Face heard a thud and tore his eyes away from the holodrama. Ton had fallen out of his chair.

That was it. He'd just go back to his quarters and spend the evening reading something educational. Or perhaps polishing his blaster so he could shoot them all when they came back.

Just before he could pull his head out of the doorway, Tyria spotted him.

"Face!" she squealed, clambering out of the chair. "Face, come sit! You're fabulous!"

He ducked, turned to run—

—and Runt's hand closed on his arm, effectively halting any forward movement. Face was inexorably drawn backward into the lounge.

Once his brain accepted that there was no escape, he slapped Runt's hand away and straightened up, clinging to dignity. The Wraiths were standing now, grinning at him. Big, evil grins.

"I see you've been keeping yourselves busy," he said in a satisfactorily nonchalant voice. "I thought perhaps we could go out tonight. Wreak some havoc, cause some mayhem. You know, be Wraiths."

Ton's smile grew even wider, and his mechanical eye glowed with sadistic glee. "Oh, no," he said. "I think we're all content to spend the evening in. You're welcome to join us."

Face looked around the room. "I'd love to, but you seem to be out of chairs. I'll just leave you to it." He turned, the door mere meters away, only to feel Runt's hand once more.

"We will sit on the floor," the Thakwaash pilot said. "Please stay."

"Oh, yes. Please stay. You can provide insightful commentary into the world of a holodrama star." As he spoke, Ton took his other arm and steered him toward a chair. He shoved Face into it with more force than was strictly necessary, and indicated the makeshift holoscreen with a grand, sweeping gesture. "Sit. Be entertained."

Face cast a casual glance at his squadmates, calculating his chances of escape. Not good—Kell was between him and the door. He was trapped.

Stifling a sigh, he turned back to the holodrama playing out before him.

The young Garik Loran was giving an impassioned speech extolling the virtues of the Empire to his parents. Face realized with horror that he still remembered every word. He resisted the urge to scrunch down in his chair and shield his eyes with one hand. It was one thing to respond to cries of "Garik Loran? _The _Garik Loran?" with cocky confidence. He'd spent years perfecting that routine, after all. It was another thing completely to be confronted with his childhood's work again. He felt sick.

He tore his eyes from the holoscreen and spotted a pile of holocard boxes stacked haphazardly against the wall. He leaned forward, squinting in the darkness, and then sat back so suddenly that the front legs of his chair came off the floor.

They had all of them. _All of them_.

He turned to glare at Ton. "This is your fault, isn't it? How did you manage to get your hands on these?"

Ton turned that gleeful grin on him. "I put in a personal requisition order to Squeaky. Told him that price was no object."

"Wonderful. Has it been worth it?"

"Every credit."

Face sighed. "There's a reason I died, you know."

"Oh, come on," Kell admonished. "These are the funniest holodramas I've ever seen."

Face twisted around to glare at him. "Don't you have anything better to do with your life?

"Nope" the big man replied, grinning. "We're on leave. Nothing to blow up."

Face turned his glare on Donos. "What about you? Shouldn't you be brooding?"

Donos flashed a rare smile. "And miss this? Not for half a dozen worlds."

He changed tactics. "Tyria, lovely Tyria, surely you don't condone this vicious humiliation."

"Are you kidding? You're adorable. I feel like I'm twelve again."

"Hey!" Kell said.

Tyria snuggled up against him. "But you're the sexiest, manliest specimen I've ever laid eyes on."

Kell leaned back with a satisfied smile. "I like that better."

"I thought you would." She kissed him before addressing Face once more. "Besides, your friendship with the baby bantha is very…moving."

That set everyone howling again. Face turned back around and slumped in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. "_All_ my friends are banthas. Every last one of you."

"Some would consider that an improvement," Piggy said. "For Phanan."

"Nonsense," Ton replied, stretching out his legs and putting his hands behind his head. "I've no room for improvement. I'm already perfect in every way."

Tyria said, "Shh, this is the best part."

"That's not saying much," Donos drawled. But they turned their attention back to the holodrama.

Face watched in mounting dread as his younger self raced through the desert on his pet bantha. He had just walked in on his father hosting a Rebel-affliated meeting, and was trying to reach the city in order to inform the Imperial authorities. The music swelled dramatically, and Face knew that any minute one of his father's Rebel friends would pop up from behind a rock formation and shoot the bantha from underneath him. Then a troop of stormtroopers would magically appear, arrest all the Rebel scum, and transport the young, heroic Garik Loran to the heart of Imperial paradise.

But not, unfortunately, before he mourned the dead bantha.

He must have made some sort of noise, because Ton leaned toward him and whispered, "What is it?"

Face sighed. "I just never thought I'd have to see these again."

Ton stared at him for several seconds before saying, "You have to learn to laugh at them."

Face looked at him sharply. "Oh, I see. This is all for my benefit?"

"No, for my entertainment. But if you learn something in the process, so much the better."

"How philanthropic of you. Are you going to make this a habit?"

"I sincerely hope not."

"Quiet in front!" Kell demanded, stomping one booted foot on the floor.

Tyria made a small "Oh!" sound. Face looked up to see his face buried in the neck of his dead bantha. His body shook with sobs.

"Impressive," a new voice said.

The Wraiths turned in unison.

Commander Antilles stood in the doorway, fighting a smile. Janson leaned on the doorframe next to him, his knees weak with silent mirth.

Face jumped to his feet and saluted. "Commander! I respectfully request that you put an immediate stop to this torture. It is extremely damaging to my psyche and my morale."

"Don't forget his ego," Kell added.

Wedge's mouth twitched. "And if I deny that request?"

"Then I request that you shoot me, sir."

"That bad?"

Face gave him a mournful look. "You have no idea."

Wedge glanced at Janson, who had sunk to a semi-prone position, and moved into the room. He touched a button and the makeshift holoscreen went black, plunging the room into darkness.

Face relaxed and smiled. "Thank you, sir." His relief faded, however, as Wedge walked to the wall and crouched to examine the holocards. "Um, sir?"

Wedge picked up a case, put it down, and picked up another.

"We've already watched _Win or Die_ and _Emperor's Son_, sir," Ton offered. Face refrained from strangling him. Barely.

"Thank you, Phanan." Wedge picked up another case and stood. He swapped the cards in the holoprojector and the title screen for _Jungle Flutes_ appeared on the wall.

Face sank into his chair. "I feel betrayed, sir. I'll never be able to trust you again."

Wedge grinned. "You'll get over it. Wes?"

Janson came through the door, dragging two chairs. "Already on it, Wedge." He arranged the chairs within the Wraiths' semi-circle and settled in. "Ooh, is this the one where the jungle natives try to kick the Empire off the planet and you single-handedly defeat them?"

Face sighed. "Yes."

It was going to be a long evening.

**Disclaimer: The characters of this story belong either to the marvelous Aaron Allston or the terrifying Lucas. Though I'm willing to arm wrestle anyone at Lucasfilm if they can produce a living, breathing Wedge as the prize.**


End file.
